Blood Red and Dystopia Blue
by kaykayman
Summary: Ross lives a bleak life under a totalitarian government. This is the future of the Pokémon world. Yet he finds himself drawn into a mysterious turn of events which could change his life - or end it.
1. Chapter 1 The Monster World

Chapter 1 – The Monster World

It was dark in Ross' bedroom. Yet he was awake. He could hear thick drops of rain slap the window behind him, and the persistent honk and stutter of traffic, far below his high rise apartment building, wafted up on the aimless breeze. These noises didn't keep him awake, though. He had long since become accustomed to them. In fact, he thought it possible that he would be disturbed by their absence, if he ever left the sprawling city of Engrim.

Ross often found it difficult to sleep. It was as though he was forever unable to fit his mind's clock into a twenty-four hour period. If the day was just two hours longer, then maybe he could fit in.

But then his whole life so far – all nineteen years – had been one long lesson on not fitting in. Even as early as his school days – one year of basic numeracy and literacy training – he had been identified as an outsider. His subsequent two-year labour assignment - assisting with mining operations - continued the trend.

Being a quiet eight year-old and in an area of work dominated by alpha males he had been subjugated to the point where he had regarded every day in those damp, dusty catacombs with almost pathological dread. The other children, were just like him. They had come from the same school; they lived in the same apartment block; they too had been forced to carry out manual labour, but they never seemed to think they way he thought.

Ross' parent's had insisted that these other children were better behaved. That they hated mining work as much as he did, but were polite and hard-working enough to just get on with it. Ross could never quite believe that.

Engrim life was somewhat meagre. It was true that the daily needs were provided for each and every citizen. However resources were spread thin and this left little room for anything beyond basic survival. So, Ross had few playthings as he grew up. Of these few treasured objects – things his parents had managed to procure through theft or some other, darker means – there was one which Ross loved more than anything else.

It was a book. And as Ross lay there in his bed listening to traffic – a boy almost a man – he clutched that book tightly in his arms as though frightened the night would pull it away from him. The truth was that this book was his window into another world. A better world.

The book was called _"The Monster World" _and to put it bluntly, it had served as a much needed lifeline when Ross had felt he was drowning in a sea of his own unrealised dreams. He had whiled away many nights consumed by the pages of this magical tome.

It chronicled a boy's travels as he trained fantastic creatures to do battle against others. These amazing beasts were described in such rich detail, each of them a benign or more magnificent version of the dreary and vicious creatures that existed in his own world.

There was a period of his life, in which Ross had prayed every night that he could leave his stark existence and wake up in the pastel coloured paradise his book described. A world where life was good, where children didn't have to work and where they had constant companions both alongside them and waiting patiently for their return home. All of whom followed his commands and strove to assist him in the achieving of one goal. Supreme mastery of his field.

When he discovered that the world described in the book was not entirely fiction, but actually not-too-distant history, his interest became insatiable. However there were no libraries to offer more information. Unlike the world he dreamed of there was no back-catalogue of elderly academics to provide information whenever the whim took him. He had nothing but his imagination to further develop his knowledge of this forgotten world.

And he gladly sunk into this. After all it was much easier than facing his own bleak reality. So wherever he went – he would think about monsters.

Walking through the poisonous fog that pervaded the city, he would think about Koffing and Weezing. In reality, these things were dangerous and volatile balloons of noxious gas, but in the fantasy world, they had personalities. Rather than simply fall through the thick pockets of smog and fatally poison unlucky pedestrians, these creatures would follow their trainer's orders.

And when he was working in the mines he would think about Diglett or Onix, burrowing their way through the ground with far more proficiency that he or his nine year-old colleagues could ever hope to. When he looked out of warped plastic windows of his bedroom he would see flocks of Pidgey battling the dark grey clouds of pollution and instead imagine a climactic Trainer Battle where a young child battled for supremacy over another thrice his age.

But of course this was all childhood fantasy. As Ross grew older and moved through various labour-assignments, he realised that he was dreaming about a world that was dead. A world that was never coming back.

There were still remnants of that world. The monsters still existed, but if they ever displayed the degree of human interaction that his book suggested, then it was long since gone. The Pocket Monsters of old had become nothing more than monsters. Only specially trained zoologists would travel the feral countryside and research the creatures which for several decades had posed threat to the city of Engrim.

In fact there were only two jobs in existence, where one could expect to encounter wild monsters. The first, of course was the zoologists who investigated the creatures in the wild, noting strengths and weaknesses so as to better equip the city against the numerous incursions that beasts so often made.

The next job was that of a Caravaner. They were responsible for ensuring trade links with nearby cities and towns as well as the further flung regions: Orre, Konji and Hoenn to name but a few. They would risk their lives to protect whatever cargo was being made, whether it be foodstuffs, air and water filters or possibly even a rare shipment of tamed monsters.

The tamed monsters, usually benign and harmless things, were used as tools of labour. For example, the body of a Poliwag or Wooper could compress and store water more than any technological means and they were therefore ideally suited for cleaning tasks. These creatures could work for weeks on end before dehydration caused them to expire.

There were also the reprogrammed Magnemite. These served as local surveillance units, capable of relaying footage to government departments who monitored civilian activity for traces of anti-government groups such as Team Revolution or Team Freedom.

More recently they had automated their reconditioning process, so that Magnemite Drones could be created en masse. They had also started development on Magneton Drones (sophisticated 3D imaging units) and even Magnezone (weaponized versions of the Magnemite models).

So even from a young age, Ross knew there was no chance of him even coming close to realising his dream. Only the very rich could afford the very expensive charges associated with waiving civic-labour duty and the even costlier tuition fees for study at one of the three universities in the area. So, no, Ross knew that he was not destined for greater things. He knew that his life would be nothing, a grey flash in a sea of grey. A very dark thought for a ten year-old.

At the age of fifteen, having survived a total of four years in the mines and three year stint as a mechanic - young boys possessed the strength and slenderness needed to wriggle through dangerous machines and carry out repairs – he discarded the book. He hid it behind his empty wardrobe, not able to throw it away without raising questions as to how his family had acquired it.

By that point he hated the book, the way children sometimes hate a favoured sibling. The characters in that book didn't know how lucky they were. To be born into a world so pleasant and free. While they worried about adding to their already extensive menagerie of friends, he worried about whether he would lose a limb the next day. While the Hero of _The Monster World _collected badges from Gym Leaders, Ross collected the bodies of unlucky peers who had been fatally wounded by the machines they were sent to fix. And while this _hero_ travelled far and wide helping old men find their sons or ditzy blondes recover their lost Skitty, Ross carried out the same job day in, day out. Whether he was oiling a cog or dislodging a severed arm from a mechanism, he was always in constant danger and constant unhappiness.

So he forgot about the book. He didn't need it. As he grew older it became a source of pain as opposed to escapism. And then tonight - a night like any other – for that was how the government designed the days in Engrim, his wardrobe broke. The back panel splintered with a loud crack and as he tried to right it, a thumping, thunking clunk revealed the dusty volume had emerged from its hiding place. Reviving lost memories. Lost hope.

Ross had picked up that ancient tome slowly, like a pet reunited with its long lost owner. The familiarity was there. The thoughts simmered in his head, occasionally bubbling into existence as he remembered both the gruelling misery and ecstatic high that the book represented to him.

He couldn't bring himself to open it. Instead he fell onto his creaky bed and clutched the thing to his chest. Hugging it as though it was a parent and he a lost child. Inside that volume were his hopes and dreams, but they had to stay inside. That was the only place that they couldn't hurt him.

But it was too late. Even the cover itself had awoken something inside him. Not just memories of the story or his own obsession, but also a snapshot of his life. When he still had parents. When he was assigned mining work, or his mechanic days: the whirr and hiss of the machines as they worked around his tiny frame.

Back then he had hated his life. He couldn't imagine anything worse. But in the past four years, life had taken even more from him. First his father – arrested by militia. Then his mother, killed by a particularly lethal strain of the Porygon Virus. Forced to shared his home with strangers. They made his life hell. After his time as a mechanic, he was transferred to work as a fisherman far out in the Chasma Sea. He would be gone for months at a time, and when he returned for his standard three-day respite, he would find the apartment in increasing states of disrepair.

The front door was smashed from its hinges when militia forces had traced rebel activity to his apartment block. Even though the offender had been several floors up, the entire complex had been searched for propaganda or explosive materials. Two dead bodies were left to rot for weeks after two occupants overdosed on the recreational drug Stunspore. Another woman committed suicide after her children were killed in a blast orchestrated by Team Revolution.

Each of these morbid discoveries had whittled even further, Ross' deep feelings of cold and terrified loneliness. And his rediscovery of the book caused quite a contrast, opening up these old wounds, causing tears to form in his eyes as he wallowed in self-pity.

He hugged the book for hours, late into the night until the last rays of sunlight had long since passed over the horizon and the traffic had subsided to leave nothing but silence outside. He didn't want to let go. The book was once again a safe haven, and he would do anything not to cross the threshold into his own world.

But a loud booming knock on his door pulled him so very reluctantly from his thoughts. Even in three years, the front door had never been repaired. It merely sat separate and leaning on the doorframe. From his lying down position, Ross could see two shiny black shoes and the impeccably pressed cuffs of a pair of navy trousers.

Another three knocks. This time the broken door shook and thumped loudly against the frame.

"Hang on," Ross said to the mystery figure.

He dragged himself to his feet and hastily hid _"The Monster World"_ underneath his frayed bedclothes. The last thing he needed was for someone to find out he had contraband media in his possession. With a great heave, he peeled the door from the wall and was greeted with the stern face of a delivery official.

"Are you R. Durante?" The man asked. His voice was far more condescending than his vocation would account for. Yet it was late at night and, judging from the large box under his arm, he was carrying out a dangerous out-of-hours delivery. Ross supposed he wouldn't bee too friendly if he were standing in the man's pristinely polished shoes.

"I am," Ross answered. He was puzzled, because he couldn't understand who would possibly send him a package.

"You got ID?" the man asked.

Ross fumbled around in his wardrobe, until he found his ID card.

It was a small palm sized rectangle of plastic. On the front it had his photograph, name, address and citizen number. Next to this was a transparent circular window which he held up to his eye. He made sure to push his thumb against the fingerprint reader on the back of the card.

As he stared through the tiny retina-mapped window, the delivery man shone a blue light-pen directly into his eye. A green LED immediately lit up on the light-pen indicating that Ross was the owner of the ID card.

"Package for you," the man said. He peered behind Ross at his living quarters and no doubt wondering – as Ross himself was – who the hell would spend money sending a package to a nobody like Ross Durante.

Ross took the box, considerably light for its size and the deliveryman promptly left. Once Ross had replaced the door he turned and faced the box, now sitting patiently on his bed. It was neat and carefully packaged on the outside. Printed in large capital letters was his name and address.

Ross knew he could debate with himself over the origin of the package well into the night and arrive at no answer. The only course of action - and a compulsion he couldn't set aside was to open the package.

He did this carefully, using the edge of his ID card to slice through the plastic tape. Yet as he peeled back the covering he couldn't quite believe his eyes. And for one beautiful second Ross forgot about his bleak life, or his jealousy of a saccharine storybook. He forgot about the Monster World as he tried to make sense of the mysterious package and its impossible contents.


	2. Chapter 2 Leaving Home

Chapter 2 - Leaving Home

Ross looked at the ball in front of him. It sat there, as though unaware of its importance. A static sphere, completely white save for a thin red line which traced its way around the circumference, and of course a single white button upon this line. Ross was looking at a pokéball. A relic of his world's long buried past.

He knew of course that he had to report this.

In the past, the terrorist forces of Team Revolution had used pokéballs to smuggle dangerous monsters into the city. They were nearing the tenth anniversary of the Scyther Massacre in which one monster had killed forty-six people and injured almost one hundred others.

Ross didn't want to be responsible for another tragedy like that. But he couldn't bear to just report the find and give away such an important link to the history he had dreamt of his entire life. What if there was a monster inside just now? A small one? One that could be kept secret? A companion that could keep him sane in his horrible world.

He told himself that was ridiculous. There were no tame monsters now, not according to anything the modern world had shown him. If he opened that ball and something huge came out. Something terrible, even. It would be all over. As the broadcasts warned: Secrets cost lives. He couldn't keep this pokéball.

It was his civic duty to report anything that could lead to destabilisation of the government. Whether that be unscheduled meetings, suspicious activity, the surfacing of unapproved media, or in this case the unexpected appearance of a monster related artefact. Ross knew there was no question. He felt bad enough keeping the book. Even if that was a danger, the only person he was endangering was himself. A pokéball on the other hand was unpredictable. A danger to everyone in his apartment block. Maybe even the whole city.

But why would someone send a pokéball to him? What agenda could they possibly have? If he had been some sort of insurgent. If he had displayed any kind of rebellious attitude towards the government, then maybe - he could just about understand someone sending a pokéball to that kind of person. But not him.

He was average. His life could be summed up in about one sentence and he didn't even have any friends to discuss everyday things with let alone revolution. And then a thought occurred to him. A simple explanation - it wasn't for him. The package was addressed to R. Durante but that could be easily be his father.

Even though his father had been dead for years, the pieces fitted. After all, Rubin Durante had been arrested by militia many years ago. Even though Ross knew that it was a mistake - perhaps the terrorists in Team Revolution thought differently. There was even the slim possibility that Ross was wrong about his father - that he _had_ been a terrorist and had managed to hide it from his family. Why they had sent it to him didn't really matter. However mistaken identity seemed the most likely explanation, and therefore Ross adopted it as fact almost immediately.

The corridors of his apartment block were deserted. And for good reason. Ross immediately began to regret his decision to leave the safety of his home and venture into the night. The were no lights to guide him – the sundown curfew meant that there was no need for public areas to have power supply. This also allowed the surplus power to be fed to the production of defensive weapons for the city.

Ross nervously clutched a torch, sending its luminous beam far into the distance where he hoped danger wasn't lurking. The walls around him were painted pristine white: Each coat a veneer over the anti-government graffiti that frequently adorned the walls. The floor was equally immaculate so that only the yellowing ceiling – something even the most courageous rebels couldn't reach – gave any indication of the poor maintenance the building was afforded.

But Ross wasn't thinking about décor. He was thinking about claws, teeth, insects with rapiers or drills for arms, balloons that killed all they touched, creatures who could trick the senses. He was thinking about monsters. That and his own imminent demise.

He reached the doorway. A thin layer of perspex stood between him and the outside world. Each block in the street was numbered and every third building had an Access-point within it. Unfortunately for Ross, he did not live in one of those lucky buildings. During the daytime, he would have simply needed to walk down the street and enter one of the other buildings. However, at night – after curfew – buildings went into security mode. People could exit, but no-one could enter.

So this was literally a point of no return.

Ross could feel the dull weight in his backpack. That singular metal sphere seemed almost aware of the trouble it was causing. As though it was cursed: An object that brought doom to anyone who bore it. As though it was waiting for something to happen. Something terrible.

Ross opened the door. A blast of cold wind tried to push him backwards. Nature was working to preserve his meagre life, but his mind – his social responsibility won out. He pushed into the wind and stood in the doorway.

_Now or never_, he thought.

He felt his stomach lurch and instantaneously found himself kneeling on the ground staring at a puddle of his own vomit. His heart was racing, his arms shaking and his blood running cold with the stark reality of his situation.

Ross had always seen himself as a reluctant hero. The kind of person who stands at the sidelines, but if needed, could rise up and carry out great or courageous acts. This was his body's reminded of just how frail and incapable he really was. He was no hero. He wasn't the young trainer from _The Monster World_. He was a nobody. He would have no impact on the world. He would go on no great adventures, make no timeless friends and discover no great truths.

No. His existence would be a short, eventless and ultimately doomed attempt to survive. That was why he was here. Every choice that he made was an attempt to avoid death. Whether that be to accept his childhood labour assignments and avoid being shipped to more dangerous areas of work; or tonight's choice to follow governmental procedure and report a potential threat immediately and regardless of personal cost.

Ross knew that his situation would be subject to an investigation and if the evidence suggested any hesitation on his part, he would find himself either shipped to the Devon-Silph Laboratories as a test subject, or if there was no requirement for him there, at the business end of a firing squad. So again, this was simply another desperate attempt to survive.

The concrete below absorbed his sickness slowly. The deposit would be analysed and catalogued. Just another means of surveillance, needed by the governments shadowy Recon Department.

Ross gingerly removed his shoe and placed it at the doorframe, to prevent the door closing over and locking him outside until morning. The cement was cold under his foot, but he persevered, hobbling past his own building towards the nearest phone – which unfortunately – lay towards the city outskirts – where monsters were more prevalent.

Up until now, a battered umbrella had been hooked over the strap of his backpack, but he opted to put this up. The poisonous fog was thicker at the heart of the city, but there was still the chance that a stray Koffing could have drifted out with this area. If such a thing happened, the umbrella would provide limited but needed protection from the lethal acid produced on contact.

The wind continued to billow against Ross, as though begging him to turn back, yet his mind was surer than ever that he had to report the pokéball or risk being branded a traitor at a later date. So he continued.

The night was far from quiet. The whistle of the wind had to compete with the mysterious noises that set Ross' nerves on edge, such as ominous clicks, the panicked flap of wings far above as well as the eerie hum of the undercity computer systems busy calculating whatever new efficiency scheme the city was operating.

After walking a few blocks, Ross' foot was completely numb, but he could see a faint light in the distance. A light that he knew illuminated an access-point. The only way he could contact the authorities. However, as his hopes rose with this realisation, a dark shadow passed across the light.

Ross froze.

_What now?_ he thought.

His first instinct was to rationalise. It could easily have been a scrap of paper caught in the breeze. Perhaps not easily – waste was not a common thing in Engrim, all unused material was processed and recycled back into circulation, or transported out to the waste station far out in the Chasma Sea. So no, it wasn't likely to have been litter.

Ross knew in his heart it was a monster, but he forced himself forward. The light of the access point grew larger and brighter. Ross fears grew darker and darker, until he stopped just ten feet from the gleaming plastic bubble and the communication panel inside.

A movement behind him. The tiniest change in shadow. Moonlight provided a faint lilac illumination from above the city's smog cloud, and scattered beams - for a brief second - revealed a claw.

And then another movement. This time ahead of him. Another smaller claw and a glint of light across a wet spherical surface - an eye. Ross took a step forward, and as he did, so too did the ratatta.

It was small, covered in mangy grey-blue fur. Its ear was torn and stained with blood. Only its matted pelt had managed to stanch the bleeding. But among its scruffy, desperate appearance, two glittering eyes shone perfectly. But they were also focussed and hungry. And Ross knew enough from his time among the pages of _The Monster World_ to know that ratatta hunted in packs. He and the monster were not alone.

He broke into a run, not startling the creature as he expected, but bringing it to instantaneous action. He ran so fast in fact that he almost ran past the curved doorway of the access point. But he righted himself dragging his body inside the glass orb and putting all of his weight behind the automatic door which slid smoothly and calmly closed.

He continued leaning against the door, holding it and his eyes shut as he tried to right his breathing. After a few seconds he opened his eyes, adjusting them to the phosphorous light above. He was met with several snarling faces pressed against the door.

Their teeth snapped uselessly – the curvature of the door prevented the pack of rattata from doing anything other than skimming the glass. They looked even more disgusting in a group than alone. As they furiously nipped at the glass, Ross was able to see an ocean of disease-ridden fur speckled with sharp teeth and ravenous eyes, but found himself unable to tell where one creature ended and another started.

They stopped, quite quickly realising that their attempts at attack were fruitless. Ross barely had time to breathe a sigh or relief before they moved to each side to reveal another much larger creature.

If the ratatta were disgusting, then the raticate was completely repugnant. It stared through the glass with calculating eyes. Ross was too scared to meet its gaze, yet found himself helplessly drawn in. It's ruffled fur was the tawny shade of wet sand, and its pure white teeth were bared wide so that its blood red gums were visible above and below.

Ross knew instantly that this creature was going to get to him. It was as though it was communicating it to him through its eyes, though Ross didn't dwell on this - his imagination was already drawing graphic images of his imminent demise. He managed to shake the thoughts from his head.

The raticate stepped forward. Above Ross, a green light shone and the glass door began sliding, exposing him to the vicious creatures outside.

"No! No! No!," Ross screamed. "Close back over!" he shouted to the room.

Thankfully the voice recognition software understood this, the green light above turned red and the door moved back, and sealing him inside as quickly as it had endangered him.

The raticate tilted its head in curiosity. And took another step.

The green light was back, and the door began moving.

"I said close over! Don't let them in!" Ross shouted.

Again his instructions were relayed to the door which promptly closed over.

"Lock the door!" Ross said to the empty room, hoping somehow that the system was sophisticated enough to understand this instruction.

There was a click from beneath him, and the light above changed from red to a calm blue. Ross didn't have time to wonder if this meant he had been successful. He assumed he was and turned to the access point - A pristine and very large screen. Beneath it was a single button which read "ON".

Ross wasn't used to operating technology such as this. His background - mining, mechanics and fishing has never called for him to use a computer system, however with the threat of brutal death only a pane of glass away, he found he was able to use the system on intuition.

There was very little scope for error considering he was presented with two very basic options: "Perform Maintenance" and "Make a Report".

His hand darted across the screen, practically punching the "Make a Report" button. The screen flickered for a moment and then showed the face of a middle-aged man. His eyebrows were drawn tightly in concern and his pale blue eyes sparkled with intelligence.

"Ross," the man said, startling Ross. How did he know his name? "Don't worry," the man continued. "We know about your situation. I'm on my way with a team."

Several black-clad figures were behind him, each of them affixing grenades and pistols to their waists. All of them jerked abruptly to the side and Ross could now tell that they were on a moving vehicle. "Prof!" one of them growled, tossing a long shotgun to the man who turned and caught it deftly.

"Ross. We'll be with you soon."

"But- how- Who are you?"

In one fluid movement he holstered the shotgun along his back, so that only the handle was visible over his shoulder. He turned his attention back to the screen, where a quivering Ross stared back at him.

"I'm Professor Woods."


	3. Chapter 3 Inside the Lab

Chapter 3 – Inside the Lab

The Laboratory was quiet.

For the lower classes, the working day had started at half past five, but an academic's working day didn't start until nine. And with their working day finishing at four o'clock, they would be comfortable in their home by the time the rest of the working world were allowed to leave.

Ross sat quietly in a waiting area. Alone with his thoughts. He had seen such carnage before. Usually it was people – humans – that he saw butchered. Sometimes it was via the uncensored broadcasts showing the victims of terrorism. A complex web of surveillance equipment meant that most deaths and injuries were recorded in high-definition – allowing the public to witness the tragedy up close.

But, over time, Ross had become desensitized to these broadcasts. The moments that would never truly die were those which he had witnessed first hand. The bodies he'd found in his apartment. His mother's rapid descent into the black void of death. A few faint screams he had heard one night from below his apartment block – later broadcasts had confirmed a girl had been savaged by monsters. And now this: The annihilation of some fifteen monsters. The blood, panicked squeaks all barely audible over the rapid fire of Professor Woods and his team's gunfire.

"I'll be with you in a moment," the professor said.

He was darting around various computer terminals, occasionally stopping to survey a graph and mutter some displeasure, before returning to organising his work area.

Ross felt that this was a different man from the one who had callously blown tiny, furry – albeit dangerous – creatures to pieces. Without his team he seemed less like the hardened soldier he'd appeared to be, and more like a _real_ professor. The intelligence in his eyes sparkled even brighter now that he was out of his black combat gear and in the far more appropriate lab coat.

Ross took in his surroundings. Everywhere he looked was white. Bright halogen lights set a soft white glow upon the scene. Sheets of glass separated each roomed area, and only the occasional flash of silver – on buttons or door panels – interrupted the sea of sterile white walls, bookcases and computer terminals.

Finally the professor looked up, aiming a kind smile at Ross.

"Sorry," the man said. "I have a lot of projects running just now. Biochemical Research," he said abruptly. "Fascinating stuff."

Ross – having only a rudimentary education had never heard the word 'biochemical' in his life, but nodded and smiled all the same. He glanced upwards at the clock, thinking about the consequences in store for him, now that he'd failed to show up for work.

As though reading his mind, the Professor reassured him. "Don't worry about your work. I have a bit of influence in the government – and have straightened things out with them. I've told them that you'll be delayed by one week."

"A week!" Ross said, alarmed.

"It's the least I can do after what you've been through."

"But we ship out tomorrow. If I'm not there then I'll miss three months," Ross explained.

"Yes, that's what they said. However they said that it wasn't a problem."

Ross couldn't believe it. He was now a _shirker_. Someone who evaded work. He'd spent his life despising those lucky few who managed to wrangle their way – even for a short time – out of labour assignment. And now he was one of them.

The government didn't just let people shirk for nothing. There was a strict regime in place. One missing worker could topple an entire project. The work didn't disappear. It had to be spread across the workforce. His co-workers would be cursing his name – if they'd ever bothered to learn it. Whatever influence the professor did have must be substantial for him to arrange this.

"What happens now?" Ross asked.

"Now?" the Professor asked. In just a few seconds his attention had been diverted to the pokéball.

After the rescue, when Ross had come to, the Professor had immediately taken his backpack and placed it inside a large plastic pouch and zip sealed it. He'd given it to one of the black-clad men for "Processing".

Ross had no idea where his backpack had gone, but he was sure that what lay in front of him was the pokéball. His pokéball.

"Part of my private collection," the professor said, nodding at the silent sphere.

"Is it the-"

"Yes the one you received. Stolen from me and sent to you. I wonder why," he said very quickly.

A few seconds passed in silence.

"It seems we'll never know," the professor finally said, however Ross caught a glint in his eye that seemed to indicate that he had not let the matter drop - merely put it to one side.

"Can I ask a question?" Ross asked.

"Of course," the professor said.

"What's inside it?"

The professor paused, studying Ross intently for a moment, before finally replying. "I don't know."

This confused Ross, but the professor explained.

"You see these kinds of artefacts are very valuable. This ball was found fifty years ago and in that time has changed hands five times through auction."

"Wouldn't the monster be dead by now?"

"No, the pokéball is a sophisticated means of suspended animation. The monster leaves the ball exactly as it entered. Most balls eventually lose their power, but this particular type sets it apart in that it has a nuclear power source with a four-hundred and thirty year half-life. Meaning it will function long after we are all dead. So you see fifty years is a drop in the ocean to it. In the fifty years since its discovery, not one person has opened it for fear of decreasing its value."

"It's value?" Ross asked puzzled.

"There are several things we can tell from looking at a pokéball. For this one, we can tell that there is something inside - and that it is a monster. But what kind of monster is what affects the value. And that is why we cannot open it. If I were to open it right now, I could find myself with a legendary monster like a gyarados or a dragonite in my possession, but it is also possible that I would have something as mundane as a wurmple or even a ratatta," he said. "One of the monsters which accosted you a few hours ago," he added unnecessarily.

"And then it would be worth nothing?"

"No, not nothing," the Professor explained. "It is still a poke ball, and a Premier Ball to boot – an item of great historical significance. But its value would fall by at least ninety percent. You see it isn't just a pokéball. It is a possibility, as well. And as soon as we open the ball, the possibility vanishes."

"But don't you wonder?"

"Every single day," the professor said with a sigh.

"What if you opened it, and kept it secret," Ross asked.

"Haha," the professor said, and for a moment, a shade of the soldier returned to him. "If it were that easy, I would have done it long ago. No. While it's so far impossible to see the contents of a pokéball, we can still see superficial data such as its access timestamp."

They stood in silence once more. Both of them staring at the pokéball, seemingly contemplating the great potential it held. Finally the professor continued.

"One of my many projects," he said, "is spent designing and operating sophisticated scanners, trying to probe further into the data. Looking for trace signatures which can give hints as to the contents."

Ross was completely captivated by the endless stream of information the Professor was releasing. He had spent his life with only an ancient children's book to tell him anything about the world he dreamed of, and now here was a man who seemed to spend his every waking hour surrounded by monsters and monster-related items.

"Ross, you seem to have a keen interest in all of this, am I right?" the Professor asked.

Ross could only nod in reply.

"How would you like to stay here for the week, assist me with my research?"

Ross stared at him.

"Are you okay?" the Professor asked.

"Yes! Sorry. Yes I'm fine. And yes I'd love to stay and help," Ross could hardly contain himself. Here he was. A fisherman a few hours ago and now he was a lab assistant. "Do you think we'll see monsters?" Ross asked.

"Most definitely," the professor said.

Before he could continue any further, a set of double doors at the far end of the room opened and another two people entered. One was a young man who seemed no older than Ross. He wore a superior scowl on his face, and looked if anything like a younger version of Professor Woods. The angular features and sparkling blue eyes confirmed – as far as Ross was concerned – that they were related. However he did not wear a lab coat, nor did he possess that elusive hint of a darker, stronger side that made the professor so enigmatic.

The other person was a young woman. She had dazzling red hair which was tied neat and high above her pale and pretty face. She wore glasses with delicate almost invisible frames and carried herself with precision and confidence.

"Ah," the professor said walking towards them with a smile on his face. "Ross, come, let me introduce you to my assistant," he added, indicating the pretty red-head. "And of course my son," he concluded, indicating the boy and confirming Ross' suspicions.

The professor's son looked in Ross direction, but his gaze was aimed upwards, as though he didn't much want to look at the newcomer, let alone talk to him.

"Another stray, father?" the boy said. "Do we have time to entertain these…" he struggled to find a word to describe Ross and eventually settled on "people, with out current workload?"

"Oh come, come, Eton. There's no need to be like that," the Professor said, sternly. Something passed between the two. The way the professor spoke was almost threatening, and while fear did not register on Eton's face, he allayed his unfriendly manner and offered Ross a curt handshake.

"Jade," the professor continued, now speaking to the red-headed assistant. "Would you like to show Ross around the lab?"

Ross interpreted this as something other than a request.

"Of course, Professor," said Jade. "Come with me," she instructed.

She led Ross through a set of white double doors into a white hallway. Once out of the professor's company, her shoulders relaxed and she let out a deep sigh.

The Laboratory was huge. Ross had considered the expansive white labs to be more than excessive, but this was only the ground floor in a five-storey building.

The next floor up was the Electronic Storage Area – a method of storing monsters using similar means to a pokéball. Ross was awed when Jade informed him that over 1 million monsters were currently stored. She led him around the huge computer systems, each of them alive with the hum of industry. He could barely believe that he was literally surrounded by monsters, yet could see none of them. It should have been infuriating, and yet he couldn't find feelings of anger, when after nineteen years of dreaming, he finally had taken his first steps into the world of monsters.

The next floor was again dedicated to monster storage; however these creatures were not stored electronically, but within metal cells where they could be observed as part of the professor's experiments. Again Ross felt a pang of disappointment – the cells were completely enclosed and he was unable to actually see any of the monsters. Jade explained that most of the creatures were very violent and became even more so when faced with humans.

They swiftly moved onto the next floor which served as a kind of old-world museum, where old-world artefacts were kept inside glass cases. Jade and Ross spent a much longer on this floor as she explained the origin behind the exhibits including a Cinnabar Island Gym badge – a relic even in the later part of the old-days; a Macho Brace – a piece of monster training equipment; and a faded scrap of paper bearing the word "RARE" – the wrapper of a candy treat sometimes fed to monsters. Ross could have stayed on this floor for days; drinking in the history - the feel of the world he loved, but Jade was a strict tour guide and after she had shown him what she considered to be the main attractions, she led him upwards still to the next floor.

The elevator seemed to take longer as it rose to the fifth and final floor and Ross was convinced that he was about to be shown something truly impressive. So his heart sank when he was shown a simple hallway.

"This is a bit of an anticlimax," Jade explained, as she led him out onto the marble floor and into the hallway richly decorated with mahogany panels and gold-framed artworks. "This is where we live."

"All of you?" Ross said - finding it difficult to believe that either of the three - the professor with his commanding attitude, Eton with his volatile personality, or Jade with her ice-cold manner - would allow such an arrangement.

"Yes," Jade replied with a sigh. "The professor insists that we not leave the building while certain experiments are running. We have our own quarters for such times. It is very tedious. We can sometimes be trapped here for anything up to two weeks."

Privately Ross thought that two weeks in Professor Woods' Lab sounded like a holiday compared to three months sharing a small cabin on a stinking ship with eleven other people. Something that up until a few hours ago, he had been facing without any strong reservations. In fact, now that he had seen it in detail, he was more sure than ever that the laboratory represented a much better life.

She led him down the hallway passing identical dark wood doors on both sides - each of them inlayed with numbers from one to eight.

"What about the other guys?" Ross asked. "The people who helped save me last night?"

"Ha!" Jade let out. "His _Response Unit_ come only when needed. Silly boys playing soldier. The Professor thinks he's above the law, just because he can afford to pay beefed up brutes to operate weapons."

Ross sank into himself, feeling every muscle seize up. He widened his eyes, trying to alert Jade to the danger of her words and how they could incriminate the Professor, and even herself. The government had surveillance equipment in every building within the city: hidden cameras which monitored for terrorist activity. At the very least the Professor would be required to have listening posts in his laboratory.

Jade smirked at his panic. "Don't worry Ross. Another of the Professor's little perks is that his lab is - shall we say off-the-grid. No cameras, no microphones."

"Is that- I mean- what about terrorists?" Ross finally managed to ask.

She smiled. "I've been here so long, I sometimes forget what it's like out there. What the government tells you people."

Ross wasn't sure what to say. Jade held his gaze. Her eyes were blue like the professor's, but a faded, softer blue. While the professor's had sparkled with the intelligence befitting his profession, hers seemed to glisten with sadness. As though she had been holding back tears for a very long time.

"Ross," she said. "You will soon find the this laboratory is not as free and noble a place as it seems. This is a place of vile experiments, archaic practices and black morals. This is your room," she said, opening the dark wood door and revealing an elegantly decorated bedroom. "Though you will soon find it is something more of a prison."


	4. Chapter 4 Experiments

Chapter 4 – Experiments

Ross, once again, found himself unable to sleep. Again, the noise of outside traffic contributed to his insomnia – but far more persistent were the questions.

Was Jade to be trusted? What she had told him was so unbelievable. One man working above the government. A building with no surveillance equipment. Such things undermined the rigorous scrutiny that Ross and others like him endured every day. If Jade was telling the truth, then what other secret allowances was the government making?

And who had sent him the pokeball? It seemed like months ago that he had accepted that package. He had casually assumed that it had been intended for his father. But now what was he to think? Whoever had the resources to steal it from the fortress that was Professor Woods' Lab would surely know that Rubin Durante had been arrested several years before. It didn't make sense that they would send it to his father.

He let the thoughts swirl around his mind as he stared at the intricately designed ceiling, willing himself to sleep, but none came. And after a further half hour of fruitless effort, he resigned himself to consciousness and chose to investigate his room.

It wasn't a particularly large room, but it was far bigger than Ross' actual home. Off to one side was a door leading to an en-suite bathroom, something Ross found needlessly opulent. He was used to his apartment block's tiny, smelly and all round disgusting communal bathroom, so while he thought his new accommodation was sinfully lavish, he couldn't help but enjoy it.

There was a keypad on the wall which, in addition to controlling the rooms lighting, also allowed him to manipulate the temperature. By far the most impressive aspect was large silver button which when pressed, caused a large screen to lower from above; a machine akin to an access point.

The difference being that there were far more options than simply repairs and reports. An image of a spinning globe allowed Ross to access a repository of worldwide information. There was also another image of a bound leather book which was a kind of electronic journal. Ross found that an article had already been recorded for that day, beginning with him leaving his home and chronicling his movements up until the moments before his rescue by Professor Woods.

There were several other icons, but Ross wasn't given an opportunity to explore the rest of the system, because as he exited the journal section, there was a short knock on his door. Ross left the access terminal and opened to door to be greeted by the dour face of the Professor's son.

"Hi," Ross offered cheerily – knowing that the sentiment would not be reciprocated. "Eton wasn't it?"

"It still is," Eton said flatly. "Come with me."

Ross obliged, following him down the corridor past the wood panelled walls. He glanced at a few of the framed paintings. Some depicted scenic areas, but a majority of them were abstract images of monsters, painted in vivid bright colours and sporting what Ross considered uncharacteristic doughy eyes and wide grins. In particular there was an image of a child – no doubt intended to be a Monster Trainer – riding what looked like a charizard. But this charizard did not have the deep red scales or colossal wingspan inlaid with an emerald membrane. Nor did it have the menacing feline eyes, glowing amber with thin dark slits for pupils. Instead was an ungainly creature, bright orange with a vacant expression. It was unnerving to see something usually so awe inspiring reduced to nothing more than a mode of transport for children.

"Where are we going?" Ross eventually asked. The silence had become unbearable.

"To my lab. I'm to show you my current project," Eton explained. "Not that you'll understand it," he added with a sigh.

Ross bit back a retort and followed Eton into the elevator. They headed down to the ground floor to the lab area. The professor was engrossed in a computer terminal, but gave a cursory wave and smile as Ross and Eton entered the room. Eton led him to a darkened corner where things were far less organised.

"This is my work area," Eton said distractedly. Already he had begun reading a printout from beneath his own terminal. He allowed the next few minutes to pass in silence as he examined the contents, before looking up – almost surprised to see Ross still standing there.

"Bone density data for a raticate," he said, waving the paper.

"Oh," was all Ross could say. He had no idea what that meant.

"You see, we acquired a bit of a special monster recently, but we're having difficulty meeting its dietary requirements," Eton explained. Ross found him far more pleasant when he was imparting information.

"What kind of monster is it?" Ross asked.

Eton rolled his eyes. "I doubt you'll have heard of it," he announced. "It's an extremely rare find. A fully evolved monster."

Ross of course knew about monster evolution. The term was something of a misnomer considering it was not evolution in the classical sense. Instead of slowly changing over a period of millions of years – monsters had the curious ability to change form entirely in the space of their own lifetime. Some monsters could even change two or three times, moving through distinct stages.

Scientific debate raged around what was considered normal growth pattern and what qualified as the unexplained phenomenon of "rapid cellular reconstruction" or "evolution" as the academic community had reluctantly come to call it. Pioneering research had explained some but not all occurrences of this phenomenon.

Weedles – small insects – would wrap themselves in a hard shell after a certain amount of time. Untrained observers had always cited this as a new monster – kakuna. However closer examination had revealed that this outer shell concealed and facilitated a fairly rudimentary process called chrysalis. Kakuna was now seen as merely an intermediate stage necessary for a weedle to fully grow into its adult form - beedrill.

This revelation had led to further research and exposed a plethora of insect monster evolutions as simple and natural growth. Eventually even non-insects; poliwhirl, zubat and teddiursa to name but a few, were investigated and similarly removed from the dwindling list of "evolving" monsters, until only a very small amount were left unexplained.

So Ross was genuinely excited. If this was the kind of monster that could – in scientific terms – evolve, then it _would_ be something unusual.

Eton continued. "This is my critical project at the moment. The monster is so malnourished that it's beginning to die. We've tried everything we can get out hands on. Ratattas, caterpies, sentrets, but nothing works."

"What kind of-" Ross tried to ask again.

But Eton continued talking. "Your bumbling stupidity, last night at least allowed us to catch a raticate."

Ross ignored the insult. He was far more interested in the result. "Did it work? Did the monster eat it?"

"Let's find out," Eton replied, snatching a few more files along with the printout and leading Ross back to the elevator.

They arrived at the third floor. A sign read 'Live Monster Storage'.

"I have a question," Ross said.

"Really?" Eton drawled. "I'm surprised you can manage a coherent thought." He added leading the way down the long metal corridor until they reached a thick windowless door.

Ross continued unabated. "If the monster is going to die without food, can't you just store it in a pokeball until you get enough food for it? I mean the professor said that it would come out exactly as it went in, right?"

"If something that simple was an option, do you really think we wouldn't have done it already?" Eton said with a sneer. "We can't get the monster into a pokeball." His fingers drummed across the control panel next to the door, which opened with a click and a hiss.

Ross felt a peculiar sensation as a wave of warm air washed over him. The familiar scent of the sea – salt water, crisp air – eye watering. And when he followed Eton into the room he saw six huge glass tanks full of what was presumably sea water. Each tank housed various species of monster.

A majority of these creatures were the kind of ordinary everyday monsters that Ross would encounter on his fishing trips, such as magikarp, tentacool or goldeen, but at the very back was a truly amazing and terrifying monster.

It was a much larger tank - larger than both Ross' apartment and his new accommodation combined. Inside this, moving through the water with both purpose and stealth was a creature Ross had seen a great deal of when reading "_The Monster World_". Its skin was a deep teal, the underside ivory white. Its mouth was a gaping hole of jagged daggers each glistening in the halogen lights above. It's eyes shone bright, yet sinister red through dark slits and it's four fins spread at equal distance around it's cylindrical body, twisted almost imperceptibly as it steered its way through the clear waters.

"Sharpedo," Ross whispered in amazement.

Eton was unable to hide his astonishment. "So you _have_ heard of it," he said, but quickly moved on. "As I said, we haven't yet fed the raticate to the sharpedo, so this should make for an interesting first experiment for you to witness. Of course it's not likely to work. We've already tried feeding it several ratatta with no success. I doubt that a raticate - with its similar biology - will be any different. But as we scientists always say: it is of equal value to have a theory proven wrong. And at this stage we are very desperate."

Ross was about to ask how the sharpedo would be fed, but before he got the chance, a panel slid back on the ceiling revealing a square of shadow. More mechanical sounds brought down a tight mesh cage, inside was the ravenous form of a raticate - the very same raticate which had tried to kill Ross. Even with this in mind, Ross was unable to allay the sympathy he felt for the creature.

As it caught sight of Ross and Eton, its eyes widened and it began making frantic attempts to attack. Its claws dragged across its wire prison. Spit flew from its mouth and its jaws rattled the bars, but with no effect. When it drew closer to the surface of the water, it suddenly stopped to survey the treacherous waters. The sharpedo below continued its cycle around the tank, taking no notice of the creature which was being perilously lowered into its enclosure.

The cage hit the water and the bottom gave way, swinging slowly on a hinge and causing the raticate to plummet deeper into the water. It became frantic, its razor claws gripping the metal cage, desperately trying to stop itself from descending any further. Ross wondered just how long he would have to watch the raticate struggle.

Eton, on the other hand, gazed at his clipboard distractedly, and then after a further few seconds released a sigh. He pulled back his sleeve and tapped the screen on his wristwatch in a few places. Sparks immediately flew from the cage -electrifying it - and the raticate instinctively let go, plunging deep into the tank with the waiting sharpedo. There was a brief moment of nothing. A tense second where the sharpedo, the raticate - and even Ross and Eton - were completely still, as though contemplating the strangeness of their reality, appreciating the importance of the event that they were all a part of.

And then it moved. It was lightning fast, the sharpedo shot towards the raticate like a dart. Ross was spared its gruesome end only because a cloud of the deepest red blood obscured the finer details of the raticate's demise. When the blood had spread throughout the tank, now no longer obscuring the view, but only adding a burgundy tinge to the contents, Eton removed a pen from his lab coat pocket and calmly placed a tick on his clipboard.

Ross felt physically sick and slowly stepped backwards. "That was…" He tried to find the right word. Disgusting, brutal, horrific, sick. There were so many to choose from. "Did- did it work?" He finally asked. His mouth was dry and his legs weak beneath him.

"No," Eton replied flatly. "See for yourself," he added.

Sure enough Ross was able to see the remains of the raticate, dead but whole, at the bottom of the tank. The sharpedo had resumed its circling, ignoring the fresh meat beneath it.

"Why didn't it eat?"

Ross could tell that the response was difficult for Eton to say. "I don't know." he said slowly, and then - as though trying to compensate for this - continued. "My current theory is that the creatures it eats have to have a certain biology. I've tried a great deal of monsters. Pidgey, hoothoot, spearow, sentret, rattata, rhyhorn, tauros and miltank are just a few. None of them have been suitable. In fact only one monster was eaten. A Mimer."

"Mister Mime?" Ross said, not wanting to believe what he was hearing.

"The correct term is mimer," Eton replied. "That archaic terminology is inaccurate. There is such a thing a female mimer after all."

"It's not that- it's just. A Mist- A mimer is-"

Spare me the morality lecture," Eton replied, knowing very well the strong link between humans and a subset of the humanshape monsters. Several respected scientists had even gone as far to say that humans may have evolved - in the classical sense - from the monsters that bore more than a passing resemblance to humans.

"It's just..." Ross couldn't find the words.

"Listen. These things are wild animals. If this _were_ the wild, the shapedo would have eaten the Mimer anyway. All we've done is helping facilitate something that would have occurred naturally."

"I can't do this," Ross said, shaking his head as though doing so would wipe the memories away.

"Why am I not surprised?"

Eton allowed Ross to leave, and turned to analysing data produce by his latest experiment. Ross waited by the elevator, but when it arrived, its doors opening with a cheery ping, Jade stepped out.

"Jade," Ross said. "What are you doing here?"

"I work here, Ross. Now come with me."

Even though he was now very tired, he obliged, flowing her back down the corridor, but stopping short of the far door where Eton and the Sharpedo lay. She allowed her hand to lazily patter across the access panel and the door clicked open. She led him into the strangest room he had ever seen.

The smartly tiled floor of the hallway extended perhaps two feet into the room, but beyond this, thick tufts of grass grew from soft mounds of earth. A few trees in the corners of the room stretched their branches across the ceiling providing an overhead canopy of emerald green leaves and vibrant pink flowers.

"What is this place?" Ross asked, eyes wide with amazement.

"This is the nature room," Jade explained. "We occasionally have access to plant monsters. They need a natural environment to survive. So the professor commissioned me to create this."

"It's amazing," Ross said.

And it was. At least, to Ross, it was amazing. Because he had never seen real grass before. He had never seen real flowers. Outside the walls of the laboratory was a graveyard of cement buildings built on the ghost of a once verdant town.

Engrim Town had been quaint and rural. Its income had once come from farming. But technology and times had changed. Neighbouring settlements such as Leveramp City and Mechaero developed cutting edge agricultural equipment – and Engrim was forced to either join them on this technological journey, or wither and die.

Soon the humble farms of Engrim were replaced with Steelworks, Siliconworks, and Monster Conversion Centres. It was far more lucrative to develop weapons, computers, transportation, than it was selling miltank meat for hairline profits. And as technology advanced so do did the wars. Regions became suspicious of each other. Monster trainers, once a common sight the world over, became something darker. Shadowy agents charged with unveiling rival government secrets. Killing all who stood in their path.

Because monsters were one thing the government couldn't control. Spies could easily be identified with even the most rudimentary brain scanners, but monster physiology was so unique and diverse – they couldn't _all_ be analysed. And therefore they couldn't be trusted.

Eventually they were outlawed so that only government approved breeds could be allowed into the city. These were predominately the weakest kind of monsters or those who were reared for food. Collaborative work between iconic Monster Scientists – Professor Winston Cypress and Professor Theodore Oak – created the Cypress-Oak Threat Scale. This quantified exactly how dangerous a monster was to the public based on its size, abilities and numerous statistical data.

Curiously, at the top of this list was an innocuous monster: Ditto. Its ability to transform into anything was regarded – at least by the government – as the greatest threat to national security. And the rest of the top ten was comprised mainly of ghost-type monsters, purely based on their ability to pass through solid matter.

Even working as a miner in the outskirts of civilisation, Ross had seen no plant life. The toxic chemicals produced by populated areas extended far and wide, not only making the land barren, but weakening the area's atmosphere so that only the hardiest plants could survive.

"It takes some getting used to," Jade commented, with a smile.

Ross didn't think he could ever get used to a room that looked so alien.

There was movement in the distance, a rustling of foliage revealed a small dark orb with thick green leaves protruding from one end. It rolled awkwardly and purposefully towards them, its leaves twisting and dragging at its side, and stopped just a few inches from Jade's feet.

"This is an oddish," she explained.

"An oddish?" Ross asked. To him it looked like a vegetable. Unlike the oddish he knew from his storybook, this one had no face no limbs.

"It doesn't look like much just now, but in time it will grow into a very strong - a very dangerous - monster."

It gave a slight lurch towards Jade, but corrected itself almost instantly.

"It wants food," she explained.

"How does it eat?" Ross asked trying in vain to locate its mouth.

"Like all plants, it needs sunlight and water. We don't get enough direct sunlight in Engrim, but Eton managed to develop a UV emitting light that does the job."

A majority of this information soared gloriously over Ross' head, but he nodded all the same.

Sadly, for the next few hours, Ross did a lot of smiling and nodding, because – without any real education, he had no grasp of anything out with mining, mechanics and fishing: three topics that seemed determined to stay as far away from grass type monsters as possible. But even knowing nothing of what he was told, Ross was happy to be there.

He saw no other monsters that day. Jade assured him they were there, but they seemed to disappear whenever he turned. Just once he thought he caught sight of a jumpluff, a tiny pom pom of soft cotton swishing behind a branch in upper corner of the room, but he couldn't be sure.

He helped Jade filter the water so that it wasn't toxic to the monsters. He helped till the soft loamy soil that fed the various plants Jade had managed to cultivate in her time at the Lab. In fact, by the end of the day, Ross was convinced he's done just as much work in the Monster Laboratory as he would have done in a days fishing. But even that thought could not dampen his spirits.

He knew he may only be at the lab for another six days, and he was determined to make the most of it. When he arrived back at his room, he collapsed into bed, kicking his standard issue shoes off and crunching his toes with the sigh of a long days work.

The access terminal in his room descended like a metallic angel, alerting him to a message from the Professor, and even though Ross could not wait to see what tomorrow held for him, he could not bring himself to move the few feet needed to read the message. Instead he loosened his tired muscles and fell into a very deep sleep.


	5. Chapter 5 The Life of an Aide

Chapter 5 – The Life of an Aide

Ross woke early the next morning, still fully clothed. Having never had a bathroom to himself, he spent a great deal longer than necessary showering. He marvelled at the pristine tiles, the impeccable towels and the electric razor to name but a few things. When he returned to his room he found that the wardrobe already had clothes, neatly pressed. The clothes were a perfect fit – and the shoes only a little big. His backpack had been replaced with another, more spacious and in pristine condition.

_I could get used to this_, he thought.

And then the memory returned. A message… from Professor Woods.

He frantically grabbed the remote control from his bedside table and then, calming himself, carefully pressed the button marked with an 'i' enclosed in a rectangle.

The familiar whirr of machinery preceded the Information Point's descent into the room. Ross immediately navigated to the messages area – a single flashing envelope – wondering what events awaited him today.

_Dear Ross,_

_This is just a quick note to let you know that we run our system diagnostics on a Wednesday. This involves testing (among other things) the electronics locks and elevator, so you won't be able to leave your room until 11:00._

_Feel free to browse the research archives using your Access Point until then._

_P.S. I thought you might like to work with myself next, and have arranged an experiment I'm sure you will find fascinating._

_ Regards,_

_ Professor Woods._

Ross glanced at the clock in the upper corner of the screen. '10:12', it read.

_Great,_ he thought, _nearly an hour of waiting._

Trying to make the best of things, he began searching the Information Database for articles on Oddish, hoping that he would seem knowledgeable on his next meeting with Jade. But the articles were heavy work, making cryptic reference to other locked articles, some encoded in the Unown Cipher, making them completely unreadable.

To make matters worse, the screen began flickering intermittently, sometimes showing garbled text or inverted images, eventually becoming unusable. And then as Ross was giving up completely, it stopped. A single message displayed: 'Logged in as Aide Jade Price', immediately replaced by 'Logged in as Prof P Woods', then 'Logged in as Guest Ross Durante', and again replaced by 'Logged in as Guest Mikado West'. Ross waited for more evidence of malfunction to present itself. But none followed.

Ross didn't recognise the name Mikado West. And it occurred to him only then that he had only ever seen three people inside the Lab: The Professor, Eton and Jade. Ross supposed that Mikado was a previous employee – or even a current one who simply hadn't been present the last few days.

He stared at the screen for several minutes. His eyes focused on the clock blinking through its sequence. 10:47 became 10:51, and while Ross knew he was looking at the clock, he was very aware of the small graphic of a bound book, a faint yellow pulsing around it, and the words 'MIKADO'S JOURNAL' static and deep black. They seemed to stare back at him, daring his potent curiosity.

Ross lifted his hand towards the screen, brushing the journal icon with his knuckle, quite deliberately, but in a way that could be construed as accidental. A white page flooded the screen, pale blue lines striped it – creating the illusion that it was a writing pad, but the text was not elegant, or even careless handwriting, but cold black print.

_ Day 1,_

_ This is a dream come true. The Prof encouraged me to get to know the system, so I've decided to keep a diary of my experiences. I can't believe how lucky I am. Yesterday I had such an empty life. I felt like I was nobody, as though my existence was meaningless, and now to have this happen._

_ I know that the systems keep a log of my movements, conversations, etc. But I have to record these feelings. In this world where every minute detail merits surveillance, how can I ignore something as huge as how I am feeling right now? How can I let these emotions pass when they're the most important thing I've felt my entire life?_

_ I can't even think how to write it all down. It's been like a revelation. I didn't even know things like this happened in the world. I thought everyone was like me. I thought everyone did their Labour Duty. I thought we were all mechanics, cleaners, and fisherman. I never thought there were people who researched monsters for a living!_

_ The Professor says I have 7 days here. I hope I can make myself useful enough to extend that. I don't think I can go back to my old life. I've been through so much in the last 24 hours. My life has changed so much I'm not sure of anything. The only thing I know is I can't go back._

Ross was trying to find the words. Eerie didn't seem to do it justice. This Mikado character had captured perfectly how Ross had felt on his first day. Ross felt a little exposed – as though someone had read his mind and written it down for everyone to read.

The clock read '10:56'. Ten minutes ago, time had seemed to be standing still, now it was racing past. Ross frantically brought up the next entry in Mikado's Journal.

_ Day 3,_

_ I wanted to record my feelings each day, but I was so busy with Eton yesterday that I haven't had time. Monster research is so much more work than I expected. The professor tends to just analyse reports and experiment results, but Eton and Jade are completely different._

_ Eton and I spent a majority of the day working in the Aqua Room, where all of the water monsters are kept. I was able enough. The hardest part is making sure that you don't hurt the monsters when you're moving them. Eton thought I was handing the monsters too rough. I put it down to my experience fishing – where we generally don't care about the welfare of the fish. But Eton said I was doing great by the end of the day, so I think I'm still on track for a good impression._

_In the afternoon we worked in the intensive treatment room where we looked after a monster called a Bibarel. It had some sort of illness. Eton has been charged with finding a cure. The poor thing looks at death's door, but Eton insists that it is getting better. I felt sad watching it. I mean this is just one monster that's sick. How many more are out there dying right now?_

_The way the news casts are always made me think that all monsters were bad. But all the one's I've seen for real have been so - I can't think of the word… but not bad. I'll come back to that._

_ Today I was working with Jade. She does - if possible - more work than Eton. But it's weird. She totally fixates on this one room. It's called the Nature Room and it's like nothing I've ever seen before. I thought I was going to get used to the Lab after 2 days but- It was the emotions again. They swelled up inside me when I stepped into that room. I couldn't bring myself to step on the grass at first. It was so beautiful and new and fresh. To walk across it seemed almost disrespectful. But there was work to be done._

_ I have no idea what tomorrow holds, but if it's even half as good as the past three days, I'll feel like I'm in heaven._

Ross looked at the clock again. '11.01'. Day four of the journal loomed over him from the screen. He moved to select it, but there was a sharp knock at his door which jolted him to his feet.

"Coming!" he half-shouted to the door.

The terminal rose back into the ceiling at his request. He composed himself, shaking away the lingering curiosity about Mikado West, and readying himself for what was sure to be another interesting day.

When he opened the door, he was surprised to see the Professor waiting for him. True, he would be working with the man today, but he expected Jade or even Eton to be tasked with the legwork of fetching him.

"Ross," the Professor said. His voice was pleasant enough, but there was something missing. As though his warmth was an illusion with little or no substance.

"Professor." Ross replied, trying to avoid the man's gaze.

The professor looked tired. His eyes were sharp and shrewd as always, but the skin beneath sagged more than his years could account for. His chin was peppered with bristles of charcoal grey, and his back slumped slightly. Ross didn't feel comfortable mentioning this weary appearance and so remained silent, simply nodding when the professor motioned for him to follow.

Jade and Eton were talking in the far end of the Lab, but what really captured Ross' attention was the apparatus that the Professor had set up at his usual station.

The usual test tubes, beakers, chemical bottles, charts, text books and notebooks littered the desk. But in pride of place was a massive glass orb suspended on a metal tripod. Inside was a thick grey fog which bubbled like an angry storm cloud. It was almost hypnotic, instilling an odd feeling in Ross. He felt a little nauseous as he approached but steadied his nerve and his stomach, not wanting the professor to think ill of him.

"What is it?" Ross asked.

"This, Ross, is a monster. A very dangerous one."

Ross took an involuntary step back.

"Don't worry. We're quite safe," the professor explained. "This glass container prevents it from escaping."

"Is it poisonous?" Ross asked examining the darkening smog.

"Oh no, it's much worse. This isn't a captured koffing or swalot, Ross. This is a captured _ghost_."

Ross took another step back, his mind reeling and his stomach churning. At that moment he saw a face appear in the twisting vortex of grey. It seemed full of pain and fear, but there was also an element of a smile there. A wideness about the eyes, a faint upturn of the mouth. It looked like the face of a madman. The face disappeared almost immediately, but left a lasting impression in Ross.

"Ah, it shows its face," the professor said with an air of minor amusement. "I suppose it likes you."

"Well I don't like it," Ross blurted.

"Hmm… Yes. It's curious how these things affect people differently. I'm indifferent to them, but they can even induce nausea in some people."

"Is that what I'm feeling, then?" Ross replied.

"Oh, so you're one of the lucky six percent?" the Professor replied. "I wonder if you would mind…" the Professor began, but his voice trailed off.

"What is it?" Ross asked.

"Well… if you'd be willing to give a sample, it could help my research in this area. We've been trying to figure out why some people are so affected by ghosts."

"A sample?" Ross asked.

"A blood sample," the professor explained.

With his violent work history, Ross was used to much worse than needles and – eager to assist – obliged the professor. He offered his thin pale arm, and in a matter of seconds the professor was holding a vial of dark red liquid: Ross blood.

The sight of the blood brought back memories of the raticate attack. The tiny bodies of rattata being shredded by the rapid fire of automatic weapons. Ross could still scarcely believe that the man in front of him was capable of such brutality. These thoughts coupled with yet another jolting grimace from the ghost caused his knees to buckle.

"Perhaps this wasn't a good idea," The professor said with some concern.

"No. It's just the ghost. I can get past it," Ross said, fearing he would be excluded from what was sure to be an interesting – albeit difficult – experience.

"Very well," the professor replied with a smile. "The reason I've prepared the gastly here, is so that we can carry out some tests. As I've already said – ghosts are the most dangerous monster out there." He pointed to a chart that Ross was already familiar with: The Cypress-Oak Threat Scale. "Well apart from ditto."

Ross was, of course, familiar with the chart. Perched atop a pyramid was an artist's impression of a ditto – a translucent pink blob. Beneath this was again, an artist's impression of what a ghost might look like: a grey cloud (somewhat resembling the real ghost Ross was seeing in front of him, accompanied by other drawings fitting the more child-like idea of a spirit.

"Are they really people who have died?" Ross asked.

"I doubt it. After all, they breed. That would mean they breed at an identical rate to human death rate. An awkward theory at best. And the types are so varied. Gastly, sableye, duskull. Are we to believe that people randomly become a certain ghost monsters? No… There are too many unanswered questions."

"What do you think they are?" Ross asked.

"Just monsters," Professor Woods replied. "I find it far more likely that they've evolved over time to suit some unknown habitat. Some area where they needed to pass through other matter. It is after all a wonderful defence mechanism."

Taking another glance at the twisting ball of gas, Ross couldn't think of anything wonderful about them.

"Our experiment today, is to see if there are certain chemical compounds which the gastly cannot pass through."

As though to answer the question which was forming in Ross' mind ("how") the professor led him to another side of the lab where a large and thick tube of glass was suspended. At one end was a circular orb similar to the other which currently held a gastly.

The professor wore a wrist-mounted computer similar to Eton's, and with the push of one button, the glass orb and the contained gastly were sharply lifted from one station by what seemed to be a set of hydraulic arms. The arms smartly glided above them, gently – yet firmly – placing the gastly down at the other end of the tube. With a fizz of electricity the gastly's orb fused itself to the other equipment – yet the contained gastly remained confined to one end of the apparatus.

"How is this glass able to keep the gastly in?" Ross asked.

"It isn't," the professor replied. "Instead I am using another monster to suppress it."

Ross looked around for evidence of another monster in the room, but could see nothing.

"It's here," the professor said. His eyes indicated upwards, and Ross followed his gaze.

From among the darkness of the hydraulic arms, Ross could see two bright red eyes peering back at him. Lifeless to the core, the dark pupils seemed to follow him precisely. As Ross eyes adjusted to the gloom above, he could make out the faint amber glow of glyphs inlaid across the animal's black body. For the first time, Ross was looking at a monster he had never heard of.

"What is it?" he asked.

"It's called umbreon, and it is an evolving monster. It has the peculiar ability to suppress ghosts." The professor explained. He stamped his foot sharply and firmly spoke "Nero! Come down here!"

The umbreon obliged instantly, seeming to drop effortlessly from the machinery above and landing with an elegant feline grace at the Professors feet. In all these movements, Ross seemed to be the focus of its attention throughout.

"It does what you tell it?" Ross asked.

"Yes. It is rare, but there are still _trained_ monsters in this world."

Almost as testament to this, the jet black monster nuzzled its head against the Professor's lab coat. But its eyes were still fixed on Ross.

"It keeps staring at me," Ross said, uneasy.

"He doesn't trust strangers," the Professor explained. "It also takes a great deal of control for him to hold back his primal desire to attack. Be glad he's only staring."

Ross shuddered. His lab experiences so far had begun to change how he thought about monsters. Where once he regarded them as wholly violent and vicious creatures – having spent time in the Nature Room with Jade – he now thought that maybe perhaps some monsters weren't as bad as the newscasts made out. He'd even entertained the notion that the world he'd read about as a child wasn't dead. That if people just supplied the effort, _The Monster World_ could be rebuilt.

He found it funny how just ten minutes in the presence of two monsters had changed all this. It seemed that the gastly with its maniacal evil and the umbreon with its sinister gaze had renewed his appreciation for just how dangerous these things could be.

The rest of his day was spent meticulously arranging a variety of materials for the gastly to pass through. The results were fairly bland, with the gastly passing through every material, but despite this the professor found these results fascinating. He laboriously recorded computer read-outs, claiming that certain materials seemed to hinder the gastly, weaken it. While he was unable to stop the gastly completely, he maintained that his research could lead to some way of hindering or nullifying the abilities of ghost monsters.

During the experiments, Ross tried to steer conversation towards other employees, wondering who Mikado was and what had happened to him. But the professor's answers made no reference to the missing aide. He maintained that he required very little staff as the lab was maintained by computer systems. Even the tactical team who had rescued Ross were situated off-site and only called when needed.

Again Ross felt the familiar pangs of fatigue as he returned to his room. But while he wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed, his mind could not rest until he had read the rest of Mikado's Journal.

He wasn't sure if the system error which has caused his unauthorised access would still be in effect. But his enquiries with the professor had raised even more questions. He needed answers. Just how could Mikado have worked in this lab – with three other people – and have none of them remember him?

Ross eyed the access point with trepidation as it rose into the room. The screen immediately came to life. "Logged in as Mikado West" it read in the top corner. Ross wasted no time in opening the journal and skipping to Day 4. The entry was far shorter than the others.

_There is something going on here. They're keeping information from me. And I know it's about me. Today the professor took my blood, said it would help with his ghost research. This is supposedly due to my aversion to ghost monsters. I don't buy it though. He acted surprised when I mentioned feeling ill, but he had the needles and vials ready. Like he knew it was going to happen. I'm worried they're trying to experiment on me. I wouldn't put it past Eton, but surely Jade would have to know._

_I've realised what the monsters reminded me of. Myself! They have the same resigned despair I have before the professor rescued me. I don't know I'm cut out for this… If I can do experiments on innocent creatures. I'm just glad I can write this somewhere. It's driving me mad. Hopefully I'll find out more tomorrow._

Ross' heart lay cold in his chest. What was going on? He drew his hand to the crook of his elbow – where the professor had taken _his_ blood. Was he some sort of experiment? Did they do this to all of their visitors? And where did the visitors go?

The next entry was even shorter and far more alarming.

_I can't trust anyone. It's not an experiment. I figured it out. They want to kill me. And I can't escape. I've never felt like this before. I have no one to turn to. No one to confide in. I have to keep pretending – living the life of an Aide when I know that in the next few days I'll be dead. I can't escape. I can't fight. I'm so scared._

Ross scanned the room, for signs of surveillance. Surely this was some kind of joke. Or a test. Nothing. What had Jade said about the lab on his first day? _"You will soon find it is something more of a prison."_

More pieces fell into place. No cameras or listening posts. The lab was off the grid. The professor could do anything he wanted and the government need never know. Even if questions were asked… the professor seemed to operate above the government… doing whatever he wanted.

Panic was building in Ross chest. He could feel his blood pumping through his veins. His mouth had gone dry. His skin felt cold and clammy. He wanted to run. But how could he leave unnoticed. He scanned Mikado's latest – his _last_ – journal entry. Its contents were enough to push him into action.

He looked around the perfect room. _It was good while it lasted, _he thought. He pulled together what little possessions he could and stuffed them into his backpack. And he noticed then a label tucked away inside the bag stitched into one of the seams: a label.

"_Property of Mikado West"_

He felt sick. This was a dead man's bag. Realisation sunk in. Ross has a dead man's bag. He was wearing a dead man's clothes. His _shoes._

He didn't expect his door to open at his command, but it did. He was reminded on his feeling only a few days ago, when he left his apartment to report the pokeball. Here he was facing death again.

Unlike his housing block, there were no stairs, and so reluctantly he stepped into the elevator – feeling more trapped than ever. He pressed the button for the ground floor, expecting at any moment for the machine to go into lockdown. To alert the Professor, Eton and Jade to his unscheduled movements. Yet no alert sounded. The doors closed smoothly and the elevator began its descent.

But it stopped short halfway between the fourth and fifth floors. Nothing happened for a few seconds, save the hammering of Ross heart. The doors opened, but instead of a brick wall, or the machinery of an elevator shaft, they opened into a large room. Impossibly large: An entire level of the building, hidden.

The ceiling was at least three times the height of the labs other floors. Large mirrors dominated the four walls so that the room seemed to extend into infinity. Daubed on the jet black floor was large thick rectangle and in the centre an equally thick circle divided to look like a pokeball.

Far more alarming, though, was the Professor standing in the centre. His umbreon stood beside him, hackles raised. Staring. The professor did not have his lab wear on. Instead he wore black trousers which seemed to disappear into the dark floor, and a green vest, which served to accentuate his physique. This was not an elderly academic, now over the hill. This was a man of power, at the peak of physical fitness. This was the soldier that Ross had met days ago.

"So it all unravels," the professor said in an amused tone of voice.

"What's going on?" Ross said.

"Oh, don't be coy, Ross," the Professor said. "You should be proud. This is the fastest someone's worked it out."

"Work out what?" Ross said, maintaining obliviousness, in the vain hope it might spare him from whatever danger had befell Mikado.

"You really don't know?" the Professor said. "You just thought you'd pack a bag and go for stroll tonight?"

"I uh…"

"No need to explain," the Professor said. "Look around you, Ross. This is one of the Monster Gyms of old. Trainers used to come here and battle their monsters for supremacy. History was made in this room."

Normally this information would have been of great interest to Ross, but as he looked around, he was more interested in finding an escape route. None presented itself.

"You're going to kill me…" Ross said. It was more of a statement than a question.

"Don't be so dramatic," the Professor said. "You think I'm some psychopath, who lures lonely young men to his lab so he can murder them? Where's the logic in that? I _am_ a scientist."

"Then what happened to Mikado?" Ross asked.

"Mikado… Aha. Like me, he has sacrificed his life to science. Him in a far more literal sense. You have met Eton's rare monster, have you not?" the professor said.

"The sharpedo?"

"Yes. As you may recall it is dying of starvation. It will only eat human-shape monsters, and while those are in short supply, its diet will extend to actual humans."

"You're going to _feed_ me to it?" Ross said, backing towards the elevator. And then he felt something unexpected. Anger. "But why me?" he asked, his voice strengthening. "And why go through all this? Make me feel like I'm part of the team, if you were going to kill me? I mean… Hell knows you've got plenty of cages in this place?"

Rather than answer, the professor looked at his watch. He held his cuff to his wrist and spoke. "Yes, go ahead Eton. We're ready down here." He directed his attention back to Ross.

"Sorry Ross, we ready for you now. I could explain more, but let's face it: You'll be dead in a few minutes."

The ground gave a quiet rumble, and then a gaping rectangle of light appeared in the floor. It expanded wider and wider until the vastness between Ross and the professor was completely filled. From this abyss rose the same large tank that Ross had seen days earlier. Inside swam the far more threatening form of the sharpedo. And next to it – emotionless as ever – stood Eton, clipboard in hand.

He didn't look at Ross at all, but turn to the professor with business-like efficiency. "Let's do this," he said.


End file.
